


Champion of Eccentricities

by orsaverba



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Ravenclaw Peter, Slytherin Quentin, Triwizard Tournament, Yule Ball, boys being dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:22:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27159967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orsaverba/pseuds/orsaverba
Summary: "Well, we've won," MJ snorted. She leaned into his side as if Peter weren't already wedged into the sliver of space between her and Harley. "Tournament over, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons can head home."
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 69





	Champion of Eccentricities

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Themillenniumpeacock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themillenniumpeacock/gifts).



> Patreon reward for @Themillenniumpeacock; thank you, and thank you again, for having such patience with me.

Roughly thirty seconds after the Goblet of Fire spat the name  _ Quentin Beck _ out of its emerald flames, Slytherin House lost its collective mind. Peter had a hard time faulting them for it, even if their excitement was downright deafening; that was  _ their _ Head Boy who just got picked for Hogwarts Champion.

Watching Beck cross the Great Hall was the first time Peter had ever really looked at the older boy. He was smiling and it was attractive, in a cocksure kind of way. A compelling, dangerous slant of his mouth, which brought out the best of his features. Which were most of them.

"Well, we've won," MJ snorted. She leaned into his side as if Peter weren't already wedged into the sliver of space between her and Harley. "Tournament over, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons can head home."

"That's a little presumptive," Peter said, trying to subtly elbow his way out of being crushed. It didn't work.

Harley rolled his eyes, bored as ever by the proceedings, and drawled;

"Pete, it's  _ Beck _ . Guarantee you he's gonna have the other two Champs eating out of his hand by the end of the week."

Peter glanced back at the smile on Quentin Beck's face and thought;

_ He just might. _

* * *

  
  
  


Two months and one trial later, Quentin Beck appeared without warning to deposit himself in the seat across from Peter in one of the quiet corners of the library. 

There weren't many reasons for him to be there; the library was relatively empty and there were plenty of other tables for him to sit at. Peter considered pretending to be too absorbed in his homework to notice him. That seemed the safest thing to do overall.

It became quickly apparent that ignorance wasn't going to work.

Beck was  _ staring _ at him.

Sighing with the kind of weariness that would make MJ proud, Peter looked up.

"Hi," Beck grinned-- the same devastatingly attractive smile from the night he'd been named Champion, the same one from a week ago, when he beat the first trial. "I'm Quentin."

"You don't say."

Sarcasm, as a default, tended to land Peter in a lot of trouble. Or, as the case was with Beck, it endeared him to other people.

Beck's eyes were very blue and telegraphed amusement very clearly.

"Your friend, Ned, tells me you're the man to see about potions."

Peter had trouble imagining Ned holding a conversation with Quentin Beck. To be fair, Ned was Hufflepuff enough to make friends with a whomping willow if he put his mind to it, but Beck was the kind of popular that tended to be sort of intimidating. 

"I'm alright at them," Peter acknowledged. "But I'm a fifth year. Pretty sure a seventh year like you knows more than I do."

"Bullshit," Quentin replied cheerfully.

Peter blinked.

"Uh-- I'm  _ sorry _ ?"

"You're forgiven," Peter goggled at Beck because, really,  _ what the fuck _ ? "I wasn't expecting you to be humble about it. Ravenclaws usually aren't."

"That's House stereotyping. You'll lose points if anyone hears you saying that."

"Oh, yes, suppose so. Ten points from Slytherin for being old fashioned." Beck waved a hand dismissively in the air.

He dropped his chin into his palm.

"So," he said. "Peter Parker, who is being personally tutored by Professor Banner because his Potions grades exceed anything this school has seen since Draco Malfoy himself, despite  _ only _ being a fifth year-- Care to help me beat a sphinx and win the second Triwizarding trial?"

Peter couldn't help it; he  _ stared _ at Beck. Not in wonder, more like the older boy had grown a second head and started speaking Latin. His beatific smile and casual sprawl made him look every inch the pureblood social climber he was, but then he opened his damn  _ mouth _ . 

Everything he said felt like being hit with several confundus charms in a row.

"...Has anyone ever told you you're kind of--"

"Charming? Charismatic? Engaging?"

" _ Eccentric _ ."

Beck laughed. "Not to my face!"

"You're kind of eccentric," Peter said, flatly. "And also, yes."

* * *

  
  
  


Quentin Beck, Peter discovered, was a lot like a trip into Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Loud, bright, and overwhelming down to the last bit of spellwork holding the whole patchwork of mischief and cunning together. And beneath all that, if you really paid attention, downright fucking  _ brilliant _ .

The fact Quentin was smart wasn't a surprise. He had to be, to be Head Boy. The Heads of House would never give someone that much extra work if their schoolwork couldn't absorb the hit. There was a big difference, though, between being smart and being  _ intelligent _ . 

Quentin was a master of his limits, well aware of his own strengths and weaknesses to an almost frightening degree. He never suffered the stress of doing things all on his own, delegating tasks with such ruthlessly efficiency that it bordered on militarian. He'd somehow managed to turn Hogwarts into his own network of specifically skilled individuals, there at a moment's notice and gone the second they'd served their purpose.

Sometimes, Peter found it daunting to watch. In the month leading up to the second trial, he met more people than he had in his entire five years at Hogwarts. Some of them didn't even seem to  _ like _ Quentin all that much, but they showed up when he needed them anyway.

And as if keeping track of his social circle wasn't confusing enough, Quentin's  _ personality _ was a whole other beast. 

One second he was a mad genius, the next, a scholarly intuit. Following his shifts in mood and mannerisms was like riding a cursed broomstick full tilt into a storm. And the longer Peter stubbornly held on, the more counter curses he flung at the damn thing, the more Quentin seemed to like him.

After the second trial, Peter assumed he'd be seeing much less of Quentin Beck. 

Somewhere around the third time in a week that Quentin bothered to hunt him down to wax poetic over Arithmancy for no good reason, he realized they were  _ friends _ .

* * *

  
  
  


The only topic anyone deemed worthy of discussion anymore seemed to be who the Champions would be bringing to the Yule Ball. It was the kind of singular focus that tended to only grip Hogwarts around the Quidditch Final each year. Knowing that, Peter could forgive the entirety of the Great Hall for staring at the person Quentin had asked to be his date.

If that person hadn't been  _ him _ .

Peter blinked owlishly at Quentin. When that failed to make him vanish, transform, or otherwise change, he opened and closed his mouth several times. 

It took a moment for his body to catch up with his mind, but when it did it chose to send heat rushing to his cheeks.

He considered fleeing. Then he considered punching Quentin in the frustratingly handsome face. Then, he considered punching him  _ and then _ fleeing.

" _ Now _ ?" he finally strained. "You choose now, of all the times, not to be as obtuse as possible?"

"I decided straightforwardness would be best, in this case."

"Oh  _ did you _ ?"

"Well, yes," Quentin shrugged. "Since I realized you weren't being coy and had,  _ really _ , not managed to notice the last four times I told you how much I liked you."

A strangled sound escaped Peter. 

Of course--  _ of course _ \--it was now, in front of literally hundreds of people, that Quentin chose to be brutally honest. It was so painfully typical of him that it transcended maddening and looped right back around to being endearing. 

Here was a Slytherin so obfuscated in his own strange persona as to be utterly incomprehensible, putting that aspect of himself aside to be blunt. For  _ him _ .

"You're so..."

"Eccentric?"

" _ Infuriating _ ."

"That's not a  _ no _ . Peter, I realize I've put you on the spot, but really--"

In a moment of reckless abandon, Peter stood up, yanked Quentin's tie, and kissed him to shut him up. Clumsy and rushed as it was, it worked. And, as an added bonus, left the Slytherin genuinely stunned speechless for the first time in memory.

"You're a jerk," Peter said, sounding fond. "Yes, I'll go to the Yule Ball with you."

"Oh," Quentin said, breathily, pretty blue eyes still wide. " _ Oh _ ."

* * *

  
  
  


Harley would later point out--  _ after _ the Durmstrang champion tried to hit Peter with a disfigurement hex and the champion from Beauxbatons spent the whole ball attempting to cut in while he and Quentin danced --that he'd been totally right about Quentin Beck.

MJ, as it happened, had also been correct. The Triwizard Cup came home to Hogwarts with Quentin's name on the plaque.

When asked who he attributed his success to, "Ned Leeds' inability to stop gushing about his incredibly smart best friend" was apparently not the answer the Prophet had been expecting. Nor had anyone else, for that matter, least of all Ned.


End file.
